


Sickwave

by Hiver_Frost_Elf



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Agender Mick Rory, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Dark, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Metahuman Leonard Snart, Metahuman Mick Rory, Minor Character Death, Mob Boss Leonard Snart, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf
Summary: Mick sick!fic seasoned with petting and served with a side of metahuman mobsters.  Contains heavy angst and fluff.  A dark dish best consumed cold.





	Sickwave

**Author's Note:**

> written for Coldwave Winter Weekend 2018 Metahuman Sick!fic + advent calender, soup, and blankets

The dreaded brute Heatwave worshipped two gods.  First came Fire.  Fire purged the family that tried so hard to beat the _problems_ out of them.  Fire let them wring out every last atom of oxygen from those who’d committed sins too brutal to forgive.  Fire burned the man who’d terrorized Boss Cold and Lisa’s childhoods.

Second came Boss Cold, née Leo.  He’d gone from a slip of scrap in juvie to the maestro and master of Central’s underworld.  When the Santinis and the Darbynians and the rest of the bastards refused to incorporate less traditional people into their Families, Boss Cold and his Rogues were the natural selection that gobbled up their little clubs.  Anyone who made the mistake of thinking he was just a gun and a parka learned that he wasn’t called Boss Cold just for his glares and weaponry—if they got that far with Heatwave around…

But right now, Heatwave wasn’t in any condition to do anything of the sort.  Their blankets were too heavy and hot on their chest yet going without was too cold and light for their body.  They ached and shivered, feeling the weight of their years when pain blazed through a leg they had the audacity to unfold.  It got so bad that it made them audibly cry!  They crashed onto the floor in their scramble to soothe it. Heatwave couldn’t remember the last time tears crawled across their cheeks.  The only part of their body that was supposed to crack was their knuckles.

“Sack of fuckin’ shit body,” Heatwave trembled, unable to gather the strength to ~~crime~~ climb back onto the bed.

“Hey, that’s my partner you’re insulting.”

Heatwave could hear Boss Cold smirking from the doorway.

Cold sharply inhaled when he found Heatwave on the floor.  He’d been in his study tending to some paperwork, but if he’d known Heatwave needed tending to, he would’ve tossed it all into hell.

His precious partner had been drained of color, and Cold could feel their body working overtime to do what their powers had been doing for years.

Heatwave curled up on their side, arms around their front as they tried to clamp down on their shivering.  Cold moved to tuck them in, but Heatwave shook their head, “Too hot, Lenny…”

“I’m calling Doc Baez,” because if that didn’t have Cold panicking, nothing would.

Heatwave was halfway between a moan and a whimper when Cold laid a blanket over them.  It was heart-shattering to hear, but they needed to warm up.  So Cold laid just the weighted blanket over them then used his own powers to cool their neck.

Heatwave sighed at the touch.  It was like Cold was telling Death itself _fuck off, they’re MINE_.  Dumbasses assumed it was a controlling gesture to tame the savage fire beast, but it calmed them like a collar, let them know they were at the forefront of Boss Cold’s mind.  It was like Heatwave was one of those songbirds at the Icicle Lounge: the spotlight on them, singin’ pretty and swayin’ with the music.

Heatwave’s stomach ~~burned~~ churned when they thought of swaying.

So instead, Heatwave focused on the image of Boss Cold’s focus torn away from his guest.  Those silver-blue eyes gleaming in the dark—not in the audience, never in the audience, in the private box reserved just for Boss Cold.  Lisa would smirk and scheme and steer them together.  She’d send Mick anonymous gifts and inform her brother that they had an admirer, and Boss Cold would outdo ‘em all with the concentrated intensity of a blue flame.  Mick would be confused at first, still hardly believing anyone wanted to listen to their snarling and look at their ugly mug long enough to sit through a single performance, let alone them all.

Boss Cold, with his history, would understand the self-doubt and dizziness that came with exploding into success.  He’d understand why Mick helped the staff clean up after their set instead of retiring to their dressing room.  The guilt that these fine folks deserved it more than Mick would crush their mind if they didn’t.

He’d spot Mick struggling with what to do with it all: the money, the notoriety, the fact that nobody begrudged them not talking much cuz they all assumed they’re saving their voice for their performance and not cuz words got into a train ~~clash~~ crash on the way from their head to their tongue.

Songs were easy cuz Mick could memorize what to say and how to say it.  Well, sing, but…

Heatwave woke to Boss Cold massaging their ears with a low hum while Doc Baez listened to their breathing.

“Bed rest and soup,” she ordered—more Boss Cold than Heatwave.  As if Heatwave would stay down when they had even a spark of energy to spare, so it was better to command Boss Cold since he could command them. “I’d say take them to a hospital if the fever persists, but honestly, me and Cait are your best bet with metahuman physiology.”

Doc Snow would be kind and say most medical personnel don’t have the training or equipment to treat metahumans, but Doc Baez would counter that metahumans were like any minority: nobody in power gave a shit.

Boss Cold most certainly gave a shit about his Rogues, including his partner.  He intended for Doc Baez and Doc Snow to be the first in a noble line of metahuman medical specialists.

“You’ll get triple your usual fee,” Boss Cold said, almost as much of an order as hers.

Heatwave’s stomach flipped to have that kind of money spent on them.  It wasn’t like buying suits and cufflinks for the job, this was money they’d never even ~~conceit~~ conceived of on the farm.  They’d probably seen more bucks than bucks until their first heist with Leo: a corner store whose owner was a dipshit for leaving the safe underneath his desk and whose cashier thought Mick was being antisocial for not ~~chipping~~ chatting as much as she’d liked.  Mick had thrown his ~~abortion~~ portion of the take at beer and cigs and there was still more of it!

_I spent most of my take buying winter stuff for Lisa._

_…My sibs died in the fire._

They were all shits who never listened when Mick laid down the law while Mama and Pop were out.  Did Pop care that the monsters were out of control?  No, all that mattered was that Mick couldn’t do their fuckin’ job as the oldest.

…Didn’t make it any easier to lose ‘em all.

_Lisa likes the stuffed animal you bought ‘er._

_Saw it in the window.  Girls like horses, right?_

_Didn’t you have four sisters???_

_Farm. Everyone likes horses.  Think there’s any chicken toys?_

_Chickens?_

_Chickens… They’re soft… and warm…_

They chased the sibs away when their yapping became deafening.  Mick and Mama were the only ones allowed entry into their domain.  They’d fly into Mick’s lap when they sat down for a rest.  The chicks would clamber into their hands, and just like that, they’d have something warming their winter-cracked hands.

“What if…” Cold petted Heatwave once Doc Baez left, “when you’re better, we head out to the chalet?  Get out of the city for the holidays, and I can stuff you with chocolates?”

The ones that cost a thousand dollars a pop and tasted like orgasms.  Cold made sure they came in a tacky advent advent calendar rather so Heatwave wouldn’t worry about the price.

“Boss…” Heatwave was shaking their head, yet they were smiling.

Cold smirked, scheming.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking time to read this; enjoy the rest of Coldwave Winter Weekend 2018!


End file.
